


Wicked Game

by GalaxyGhosty



Series: Daydreams [8]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Manipulation, Infidelity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU. Dark...is a user.





	Wicked Game

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say. Just a short piece that came into my head. Wouldn't leave me alone. Wrote it in one sitting. 
> 
> It's 2:07AM. I'm gonna sleep now.
> 
> Enjoy.

Dark...is a user.

And Jack has always known this. 

He has known since he was twenty that Dark saw him as nothing more than a living, breathing fleshlight—a stationary fucktoy that he used to vent frustrations out on and occasionally just did because he was bored. Jack has always known that Dark never saw him as anything but something to mess with, almost in a wicked game of endless torment.

Perhaps this is hell. Not a place, but a person, wrapped in nicotine and booze and smiles that he can't say no to. 

Whenever Dark is angry—whether it be at his family, college, work—he'll slide into his room at the dead of night, knowing that no matter what he's doing, Jack will answer his call. If Jack is sleeping, Dark will wake him, only to press promises into his skin that he has no intention of keeping. It's an illusionary chain, that binds him to this immortal prison, a stronghold meant to keep the good out and the wicked in. 

Most often, Dark will fuck him when his boyfriend pisses him off, using Jack as a dirty little secret, a final _fuck you_ to the person that caused a ripple in his already shitty life.

It just sucks that that person is Anti, Jack's brother. 

_That_ had started not long after they'd began dating officially. Dark's always been a bit of a bastard—flirting around with people even with Anti on his arm, lips laced in poison that draw everyone in, charismatic eyes that see right through a person, revealing them down to their very core. Jack had been enamored with him, cloudy eyes and saccharine words, his too heavy touches when Anti wasn't looking.

Jack had been a fool. 

So now he lays awake at night, listening for the rumble of tires hitting gravel, the slamming of a car door at the morning hours, the sky still hanging with a blanket of darkness. No one asks about the bags under his eyes, and he never tells—a secret kept between closed lips, held between the bones of his teeth, locked into his jaw, decorating every angle of his throat. A canvas that only Dark sees, and that Dark doesn't care about, because he never looks.

He never looks.

Jack doesn't think he loves Dark. Not really. He doesn't think he can love someone who holds a hand over his mouth while he fucks him, who shoves fingers down his throat to keep him clenched around him. He doesn't think he can love someone who has so blatantly used him more than anyone else in his entire life has done. Perhaps he feels something, for if he felt nothing at all, not even a sense of adoration, he wouldn't let Dark be doing these things.

For Dark has never forced him. Maybe that's the problem. 

Sometimes, Jack feels at peace with Dark's cock in him, hands pressed into the mattress like a torture rack, almost, hands bound by the rough flesh of Dark's fingers. The scrape of Dark's teeth against his throat—never hard enough to bruise, to break skin, for Anti knows that Jack is woefully single, and would be suspicious at the indication that he had a fuckbuddy. Anti knows Jack isn't the type, anyhow. 

It's wishful thinking to consider Dark is fond of Jack. It's a more probable analysis that he finds Jack to be both convenient and the most hurtful to his significant other. After all, what is the worst thing you could do to someone you're angry with? Cheat on them with someone of equal importance, and for all that they fight, Anti loves Jack fiercely. 

This is why Jack can no longer look Anti in the eye, even at dinner. 

Once, just once, Jack had asked Dark why he didn't just break up with Anti as opposed to cheating on him. 

“This,” Dark had drawled out, sounding like smoke and sharpness and something decidedly bitter, “is a lot more fun. Isn't it, my darling?”

And Dark only ever uses pet names with him when he's fucking him, or when he's trying to be sexy, and it usually works. It usually shuts down Jack's need to ask more questions; it usually shuts down his moral compass. Dark knows this, and uses it. 

There will be someone in the world, someday, that loves him in a way that Dark will never. There will be someone in the world, someday, that will map Jack's body in reverence, not selfish use. There will be someone in the world, someday, that will hold Jack like he's fragile, deserving of love. 

Dark will not be this person. 

He knows this.

Even now, as Dark rakes his blunt nails across his sides, pressing Jack's face into the sheets like he's some godforsaken animal, and the only way to find release is within him. Dark had hardly bothered to prep him tonight, doing the minimal necessary to achieve a baseline of pleasure on both their ends—that's the nice thing about Dark, at least, he always makes it enjoyable. Jack has his fingers bunched in bedspread, holding in the moans, breathing out shakily as Dark fucks him fast and good, sending sparks throughout every nerve in his body. 

Dark's chest folds over his back, voice crooning in his ear, “Just like that, babe. Come undone just...like...that.”

And he's gone, soiling the fifth set of bed sheets he's had this week. Dark has been particularly grouchy lately. It's not long before Dark's following him, a hot burst inside of him, and it's so much that Jack swears he can taste it in the back of his throat. He lets out a choked sob, perhaps the first noise he's made this evening, but it's soft enough to where no one will be able to tell. 

It's a good moment before Dark's pulling out of him, his ass clenching at nothing for just a moment, already missing the sensation. The thing about Dark is that no matter what, he always fucking misses him, and it's gross, how much he can miss someone who doesn't miss him. 

He's not expecting Dark to talk again after that, because Dark never talks after sex. Sometimes, he's nice and cleans Jack up before leaving, but never talks, not really. He's not that type of person in any situation.

“I'm gonna propose to Anti tomorrow,” Dark tells him, like this sentence means nothing. Like it holds no weight. “He's gonna say no.”

“Yeah?” Jack asks, shifting onto his back, ignoring the cum dripping from him, meeting Dark's iridescent reddish eyes. “You sure?”

“I'm only certain of one thing in this world,” Dark replies, and his voice sounds distant then, murky and like static. But he looks at Jack with intensity, one unseen by him before, and Jack finds himself perplexed, to say the least. 

Dark offers no elaboration. 

“What are you certain of?” Jack prompts, trying to hold the gaze, as though doing so will prove something. Maybe this will be his way out, or his way in. He'll never know the real answer. 

The edges of Dark's lips tilt into a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like, please come chat with me over at [my tumblr](http://voidskelly.tumblr.com)!


End file.
